


don't you worry (we'll all float on, float on)

by gendryw4ters



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Slow Burn, and so are george and peter, and swearing, chapters mooostly almost all complete, collins and farrier are best brotherly friends, mild warning for head injuries, mostly peter's pov, mr dawson is the nicest man in the world, mrs dawson also makes an appearance, small town holiday romance is maybe what id call it, so the wait hopefully shouldnt be too long, there arent many modern aus which! is a bit nervewracking but STILL
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:38:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendryw4ters/pseuds/gendryw4ters
Summary: And Peter had noticed him a few times now; the way his blonde hair would catch the sunlight and surround him in a halo of gold. The way his eyes would light up in silent laughter whenever his friend (who was much more rugged and boisterous) would say something particularly wicked, or a fellow tourist would do something stupid.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is! the first multichapter fic i have ever written in my entire life ever and the sensation of sharing it is terrifying, BUT i really fell hard and fast for this pairing and wanted to share the love, so i hope!! that you enjoy it!!
> 
> special shoutout to ash whomst i adore and who also read through this for me a few times when i was working on it and gave me a bunch of help (especially with names, which are Stressful) and for getting me into the pairing in the first place - love you!! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter notices some things, and becomes acutely aware of others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooo boy this is a scary thing to do oh gosh
> 
> i hope! that you enjoy the first chapter (enough to keep reading that would be ideal), and the rest that should follow relatively soonish <3

Peter Dawson had never really had a girlfriend before. Not because girls weren’t interested in him (they were, he'd been hounded by enough of their friends in the corridors at school to know that much) but because- well; he wasn't really that interested in them.

He used to think it was just a general disinterest in everyone, and he was mostly content with that, until he began to notice the way some men’s shirts would ride up a little when they stretched; and how difficult he would find it to tear his gaze away. He noticed the way some of them would smile; the depth of their laughter never failing to catch him off guard. How when some of them walked by, the smell of wood-smoke or sea salt or aftershave would follow them on the breeze.

He noticed the tourists, especially. The groups of students who’d come from the cities to surf along the shoreline or drink in the local pubs. The businessmen, who came to get away from it all, to breathe in the cold sea air and breathe out the stresses of their work. The stag parties, all of whom also came to drink- though perhaps a little too much, at least that’s what Peter thought, though he liked them nonetheless.

He’d watch them from his dad’s boat as it pulled in and out of the harbour, and he had a feeling his dad knew it, too; if the way he’d chuckle and shake his head at the sight of him leaning over the railing had anything to do with it.

Peter would lean there all day if he thought he could get away with it, gazing up at the groups of them on the pier. Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly brave, he’d ogle the ones sunbathing on the beach. It was risky, though since his dad had caught him once- and though Peter was grateful for the swiftness and kindness the incident had been dealt with ( _“I thought by only having sons, I wouldn't have to worry about any hearts being broken by idiot boys. I suppose I’ll just have to start working on my punches again”_ ) and at how it had always been left at that, he wasn't exactly in a hurry to be caught again.

But then there'd been this particular guy. And Peter had noticed him a few times now; the way his blonde hair would catch the sunlight and surround him in a halo of gold. The way his eyes would light up in silent laughter whenever his friend (who was much more rugged and boisterous) would say something particularly wicked, or a fellow tourist would do something stupid. Peter had caught those eyes, once, while fishing one such tourist out from the harbour mud. He’d had to bite back a laugh of his own at the expression the blonde had thrown him; raised brows, an amused little smirk dancing on his lips.

He’d been too busy thinking about that smirk when he’d collided with him a few hours later, cursing the perils of living in such a small town for not the first time in his life. He was halfway through a stammered apology when the man had laid a hand on his arm, silencing him in an instant. 

“It’s fine son, I’m sure you were too busy writing up a headline in your head- local hero saves thick as fuck tourist’s life after he plunged himself into the quicksand on a dare, something like that yeah?” The man laughed, in an accent that Peter knew wasn’t local, or from the cities for that matter. He wasn't particularly keen on being called ‘son’, though he supposed it was no different to the way his brothers would call his friends it, really.

Peter had only squeaked out a laugh of his own in response, “something like that, yeah.”

He thought that might be the end of it, and the thought was bittersweet. Bitter, because lord knows he was probably never going to see the man again. Sweet, because at least now his daydreams had a voice- one with a thick accent too, for that matter.

But that hadn’t been the end of it. The man continued to speak.

“You get many like that around here?”

“Oh, yeah, loads," Peter replied, trying his best to keep his cool. He chanced a smile; "you know, you’d think being from the cities, all those big time educations, that the lot of you would know not to throw yourselves off the pier when the tide is out.”

It was cheeky, and Peter knew it, but he figured he didn’t have all that much to lose. 

“Some of us aren’t from the cities you know. Or educated,” the man laughed; warm and rich, like the hot chocolates Peter’s grandma used to make when he and his brother were little.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Have you met my mate Farrier?”

“I heard that, you arse,” the man’s rugged friend, who Peter assumed must be Farrier, appeared seemingly out of nowhere, shoving the other almost over and catching him at the very last second. “Are you bothering the locals again?” 

Again. It stung Peter a little to think he might not have been the first, though he figured that would also make sense. There were a lot of pretty girls around, for one thing. Why should Peter be special?

“Nah, not bothering," he smiled again anyways. "Your mate’s alright- for a townie,” he added with a wink, biting down his grin at the blonde’s shocked expression, one that soon dissolved into mirth.

“Collins isn’t even a townie,” Farrier chuckled.

Collins. A nickname, maybe? Either way, Peter thought, it suited him.

“Yeah, and far from it too, ya cheeky bastard-"

“Leave the kid alone, he’s probably sick of the sight of people like us-”

Not Collins, Peter almost wanted to add. If he’d been a bolder person, he might have done.

“We have to get back to the hotel soon anyways, the others were wanting to go check out a couple of the other bars in the area later, so y'know, say your goodbyes,” Farrier finished, with a pointed look at his friend. Peter tried his best not to look too disappointed. 

“Yeah yeah I know, I’m coming,” Collins sighed with a roll of his eyes, turning his attention back to Peter. “You know any good ones?”

“He’s not old enough to-”

And though Peter wasn't often the type to be bold, he'd had people make assumptions about his age just one too many times. “I’m twenty fucking two-”

“He’s twenty fucking two, Farrier,” Collins repeated with a wink, and _god_ if that hadn’t given Peter butterflies. “The question still stands.”

“Ship’s Head, I work the bar there sometimes. If any of them say they’re out of something, tell them that they’re liars and that Peter sent you.”

“Peter,” Collins had murmured, as though weighing up the name in his mouth. It made the owner's breath hitch in his throat. “You fancy joining us? Could maybe use your expertise.”

“Col- leave him alone, you’ve bothered him enou-”

“I actually ah, I have- I’m busy tonight, got some family stuff but- but I would’ve loved-”

Peter inwardly cursed his own awkwardness, and felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Truth be told, he meant what he said; he would've loved to have gone with the two of them (Collins perhaps a little moreso than Farrier, but even the latter seemed like he could be fun to drink with, he supposed). A look of what could have been disappointment flickered across the other’s features, which were handsome- Peter had decided. They were definitely handsome.

“Maybe another night then, yeah?” Collins eventually smiled again after a moment's silence, and oh _fuck_ Peter was falling.

“Y-yeah,” he choked out, resisting the urge to scream at himself for being so shy. “Yeah, maybe. See you around I guess.”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

And it was in that very moment- stood wordlessly in the middle of the street as the two tourists set off in the direction of their hotel with a shout of _“nice to meet ya”_ \- that Peter became very acutely aware of just how fucked he really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most chapters will be around this length i thiiink (hope) and! please feel free to chat to me about it or let me know how i handled the characters anytime!! i appreciate the feedback muchly
> 
> hope you enjoyed it! much love <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter opens up a bit to George. George handles it as any good friend should.
> 
> Leaping on the first opportunity to embarrass him in front of Collins that he can find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello this is a little strange because im posting most if not all of the chapters at once so rather than have a few days to generate an interesting beginning note between them, you're just getting me on the same day having not even moved from this spot- wild, i know
> 
> hope! you enjoy the chapter! and also george <3

Peter's heart was racing.

It had been all morning, truth be told. The weight of what he was planning on finally confessing to his lifelong friend not lost on him in the slightest.

“George,” he eventually mumbled from behind his mug of coffee, deciding it was finally time to take the plunge. They'd met for breakfast in one of the little cafes by the harbour, the same one they'd been meeting in for years, and it seemed as good of a place as any to tell him.

“Yeah?” His friend glanced up from his phone, which he'd been scrolling through frantically for the last ten minutes trying to find a specific piece of local gossip that he'd forgotten to take screenshots of the night before. 

_"No no you don't understand, you don't get it, it's so- oh man, it was so good, hang on."_

_"Is it really worth abandoning your sandwich for?"_

_"Yes! It so is, you won't believe it, let me find it-"_

“I think- I have something to tell you…” Peter bit his lip, waiting a moment to gage the other's reaction. Neither of them spoke like that unless it was something important, and George must have realised this, because he slipped his phone back into his pocket without so much as another swipe.

“Hey, what're you all nervous for? Come on, you can tell me anything." He was frowning a little, and his arms were folded across his chest- defensive. Peter wondered if he thought he might have been upset with him, and almost laughed at the idea. There were a lot of things he could envision potentially occurring in his life someday, and being upset with George wasn't one of them.

“I think… I think I might be gay.” 

It was as if the whole cafe had fallen silent to listen, and for a moment the only sound Peter could hear was the thudding of his own heart against his ribs.

Until George laughed, that was.

“Oh. I think- Peter, no offence," he managed between chuckles, and Peter tried his hardest not to be offended, "-but I think I already knew that. You told me ages ago.”

“I- what? When? Did I?”

“Well, you asked me if I ever thought boys were attractive, and I said I suppose so in an objective sense, but on the whole no. And you said that you thought boys were attractive all the time, and was that weird. And I said no, and that was that. Guess I sort of leapt to my own conclusions.”

Peter had wondered in that moment if the only person who hadn't leapt to any such conclusions was himself. Between his dad and George, it was starting to feel a lot like that might just be the case.

“So it's… Just to be clear, it’s still not weird?”

Deep down, he felt as though he knew the answer. But that didn't mean he wasn't still a little anxious about it.

“No. There's a lot of weird shit about you, but that's not one of them."

“Oh fuck off, that's the last time I open up to you about anything." He couldn't stop himself from smirking as he reached across the table to punch his friend in the shoulder. Relief was coursing through his veins, though he was still left with the niggling feeling that it wasn't quite all sorted out yet.  

“So was that it? Or is there more to this second coming out than you’re letting on?"

And if there was one thing about George that Peter was far less keen on than the rest of him, it was that he always seemed to know when the former was hiding something for him. In all honesty, he'd been a little surprised that George hadn't called him out on his weird behaviour earlier that morning. Then again, he supposed, his big reveal hadn't been all that much of a reveal at all in the end.

Round two, he thought. That might do it.

“Well, uh, yeah- um- see," he began awkwardly, before stopping himself with a sigh. George was his friend, he had nothing to lose. Right?

"Well, actually… There’s- there’s this guy, and-”

“Oh my god-”

“What?”

“It’s me, isn't it?”

“What-”

“Oh, Peter, look I… We’ve known each other a long time and- and I know I kiss you on the cheek sometimes when you come up with something clever, but I-”

“It’s not you.”

“- I’m just saying, I don't think it would- wait what?”

“It’s not you, idiot.”  

“Oh. Good. Not that you’re not handsome, just-”

_“George.”_ Peter cut him off, shaking a little with barely suppressed laughter. If George could handle the thought of it being  _himself_ as well as he had done, then telling him about Collins would be a piece of cake, surely.

“Yeah yeah, you’re right, I know,” George rolled his eyes and laughed again, making a digging motion with his hands. He was about ready to take it further and pretend to bury himself alive when Peter had reached out to stop him.

“It’s _him,_  over there,” he whispered suddenly, nodding out of the window and towards the pier, where Collins and a bigger group of friends had just arrived. “The blonde one.”

“A _townie_?!”

“Shhh!" Peter hissed frantically, pressing a hand to his friend's lips to quiet him. "He’s not- he’s not a townie! He’s nice, we spoke for a little the other day. He asked if I wanted to join them for drinks, and-”

“Why are you shushing me? We’re an _entire pier_ away from him! And we’re in a café, he’s outside!" George argued from behind the hand, which Peter soon pulled away in disgust.

"Did you just _lick_ my han-"

"Did you go for drinks though? Do you even know his name?” George interjected, batting away Peter's accusations, which he would insist were  _wholly_ untrue.

“I didn't, but the offer is still there I think," his friend grumbled a little in response, wiping his hand on his jeans. "And yes. Kind of. It’s Collins. I think.”

“You think?”

“Well I mean- that's what his friend called him, I guess its a nickname or something. That’s his friend there, the shorter one- his name was Farrier which I think must also he a nickname. He thought I didn't look old enough to drink.”

“You are pretty baby faced to be fair," George shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Didn't you get ID'd for a scratch card like, last week? And you only have to be sixteen for those-”

“It was two weeks ago, and it was for a scratch card _and_ a bottle of WKD.”

“Oh right yeah, that notoriously super strong and incredibly alcoholic WKD. Remind me, is it two or four percent?”

“I was buying it for you, dickhead, ‘cause you forgot your license and you know you always get ID’d too. If I look sixteen, you look twelve.”

“That's just rude.”

The two of them glanced at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter once more, though perhaps a little too loudly for the customers around them’s tastes this time around.

They were so caught up in their joking that they hadn't actually noticed who had crossed the pier, or who was ordering breakfast in the café as they spoke.

“Bit early to be in such a good mood isn't it?”

“O-oh, Collins, h-hi,” Peter managed between giggles, feeling himself blush a little at how much of an idiot he worried he must have looked. “Sorry, this is- ah- this is my friend, George.” 

George offered the man a little wave, smiling warmly- perhaps a little too much so; the kind of smile that suggested that you knew something that you shouldn't.

“You come in on your own?”

“Yeah, mates are waiting by that burger van. I just wanted a coffee, so,” Collins smiled, holding up his to-go cup. He looked a little sheepish, something Peter found hugely endearing. “Not ah, not feeling _too_ clever, y’know.”

“Oh, Peter knows," George spoke up suddenly, and Peter felt his insides go cold. "Remember that time you went out on the boat hungover? He was _grey_ when he came home, and threw up over the-”

_“Shut the fuck up,"_ Peter mouthed, shooting his friend a glare. George only cackled a little in response, and- somewhat luckily- so did Collins.

“Don't worry, I was literally sick _on_ my mum once. But that's a story best told not over breakfast. Speaking of," he paused for a moment to muffle a yawn. "I’ll let you get on with yours, the others should be done now-”

He had only just turned towards the door when George's hand shot out to stop him.

“Wait wait! Before you go! How old are you? And what's your first name?”

“George-” Peter began, already hating where he knew this was going.

“I’m twenty four, and it’s Arthur, technically, but-”

“Arthur Collins?”

“Yeah. But I hate Arthur, so, it’s just Collins mostly.”

“Going by one name, like Madonna or Hodor, I like it-

“ _George!_ ”

Collins- or Arthur, which Peter figured also suited him- only shrugged and laughed. “Lost me with the first, pulled me back with the second. Hodor was far too underappreciated. Anyways, see you around, yeah? Unless you want to do any more interrogating?”

“Nah, I’m good. See ya later, Collins-”

“Have a nice day,” Peter mumbled, having retreated back into hiding behind his coffee mug again. He hoped the other couldn't see the colour that had seeped into his cheeks over the course of the interaction, or how his leg was bouncing at the speed of light beneath the table.

He made sure to wait until Collins was back with his friends and well out of earshot before finally turning back to face George, who was smirking wickedly- evidently pleased with himself.

“What the fuck was that?" He half-whispered incredulously, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "What were you doing? You can't just- you can’t-”

“Have I or have I not just found out more about your new boyfriend in the last five minutes than you have all summer?”

George looked a little too much like the cat that had just gotten the cream.

“He’s  _not_ my boyfriend!”

“Yet. Oh no, don't give me that look-"

"What look?"

"Like you're reevaluating our entire friendship right now in front of me-"

_"I am."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a little nervous about writing george as being kind of more laddish than he maybe was in the film BUT it relates to a lot of my headcanons about them as friends so! i hope it works
> 
> also! names are the bane of my life. for a little while, it was actually Colin Collins, but that got real confusing real fast. either way, because he doesn't like Arthur, he'll be referred to for the most part as Collins unless there's a shift in circumstance. hope thats alright! 
> 
> much love <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collins and Peter have a little time to get to know each other, and the latter gets a little bit bolder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part of me was like "oh you better tag this as being game of thrones spoilers!!" but it's literally like- i mean i guess the warning is here now if you need it, but it gives pretty much nothing away at all (also it's from season... six? not from the current one, at least)
> 
> hope you enjoy! <3

Arthur Collins.

Peter had been thinking about that name all day.

It was unusual for someone to only go by the latter, he thought for a moment, but then he wasn't exactly a stranger to unusual names. Tourists had been coming and going for as long as he could remember, so he was used to having to master all manner of them whilst chit-chatting over the bar.

Arthur Collins.

He’d been thinking about how it sounded; the way it rolled off of his tongue, how it felt in his mouth. He'd even wondered briefly how the other _himself_ might feel there, how his own name might sound in that instant, though he’d soon put an end to that.

It wouldn't do good to get too carried away, he’d decided (this, despite the fact that he’d already come to enjoy the sound of Peter Dawson-Collins after having dwelled on it for a second too long).

He wondered how it had come to be; whether it had been chosen for him, or if it had befallen him somehow through circumstances beyond anyone else’s control. He wondered if he could ask about it- if they were close enough for that or not. They weren't exactly close as it was, were they? They’d only shared a few fleeting conversations- hell, Peter had only just _learnt_ his name, surely he had no right to ask about it?

“George said I might find you here.”

Peter glanced up from his seat on the rocks by the beach, already knowing who’s face would be the one to greet him.

Names and closeness weren't the only things he was beginning to wonder about with regards to Collins. His habit of appearing whenever he was on Peter’s mind was also starting to become a thing worth questioning- not least because if it turned out he actually _could_ read thoughts, then Peter was fucked beyond belief.

“You not hanging out with the others? It’s a nice afternoon,” he offered in place of a greeting, deciding he’d try and get the small talk out of the way first. He scooted across the rock a little and patted the space beside him. It was as bold of an invitation as he figured he was ever going to make.

“Nah they uh, they're actually all mostly asleep," Collins only flashed him a lazy smile in return, leaning back to stretch his legs out as he sat down next to Peter. "Think they're all still a bit rough to be honest. I wanted to get some air though, so I left a note for Farrier and set off on my own. Then realised I don't know the first bloody thing about where I’m going, so I decided I’d try and find you.”

Peter laughed at that.

“So I’m an unpaid tour guide now?”

“I mean, I could pay if you wanted me to," Collins shrugged, biting his lip to hide his grin. "Be a bit odd though wouldn't it? Not often you pay for a handsome stranger’s company unless, well-”

It was then that Peter had stopped listening, and his heart had stopped still in his chest.

Handsome. Collins thought he was;

“Handsome?”

“What?”

“You- you said-”

“Oh,” Collins only smiled, glancing out across the seemingly endless water spread out before the two of them. “I suppose I did.”

A silence fell over them after that; though it wasn't one that Peter would necessarily describe as being awkward. More pensive, than anything else really.

“Your name-” He eventually began, realising that perhaps it was time to break it- but lacking in the courage to revisit their earlier topic. “It's, do you-”

“Some old long-dead relative was an Arthur, and I think Dad wanted to carry on a tradition. Course, that’s all well and good until your parents divorce and you’re stuck with a _‘tradition’_ you don't even have a connection to anymore," Collins shrugged, as though he'd already explained it a thousand times before. Peter wondered if he had. "And there was another Arthur in school at the time anyways so... I guess Collins was just easier.”

“Sorry. A-about that, and George, I mean,” Peter mumbled, feeling a little bit sheepish about his friend’s behaviour earlier. If George had known it wasn't _really_ something to laugh about right off the bat, then he wouldn't have done it at all. “He can be a bit, he’s-”

“Ballsy, and I’d imagine you need to be, the sort of folk you get around here in the summer,” the other laughed, shaking his head by way of brushing off the apology. “Besides, it's stupid- well, it’s not but, you know what I mean. It’s daft is what it is. What’s the point in getting worked up over a name? The comparison to Madonna, I could have done without though.”

“What, but a fictional half giant is better?” Peter chanced a small smile, glad that Collins wasn't easily hurt.

“Obviously. I mean you said it yourself just then, half-giant. _And_ he was a hero, and he held that door-”

“But Madonna was like, rich and famous once, wasn’t she?”

“That doesn’t mean a thing, money isn't everything _and_ her music was shite-”

“Yeah well, I was trying to make you feel better, but if you're going to be so bloody negative about it, then-”

“Cheeky sod," Collins cut him off with a sudden burst of laughter, "you’ve done that twice now.”

“Done what?” Peter tried his best to feign innocence, though he was laughing too; the kind that shakes you softly when you try to hold it in.

“Had a dig at me, to my own bloody face too, would you believe it?!”

“Oh my, I’m _terribly_ sorry,” Peter drawled with a smirk, finally forcing himself to meet the other’s gaze, which he'd been successfully avoiding for the most part. Were they flirting? Was this flirting? Collins’ eyes had sparkled with something that could have suggested as much, but Peter, once again, was reluctant to get carried away. “Can I make it up to you somehow?”

Collins looked thoughtful for a moment, even going as far as to pretend to stroke his chin. Peter dared to wonder what that stubble might feel like under his own fingertips someday, though quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind as the other opened his mouth to speak.

“Suppose you _could_ play tour guide for an hour or two, show me around the town a little more?” He grinned, with a wink that sent butterflies swirling around Peter’s chest and had him dodging all eye contact all over again. “I wanted to check out some of the scenery further up the coast but, y’know, a group of lads out on a stag do. Hardly going to look cool if I ask them if we can go and see the sights, is it?”

“I’m so honoured that you feel like you can sacrifice some of your street cred around me, honestly,” Peter chuckled, feeling warmth seeping up through his body, right from tips of his toes. It stilled within him for a moment, and he frowned. “I have to- Dad wants me to help haul in a couple lobster pots later, so would only an hour do? I know it's not much, but-”

“It’s still enough time for me, don't worry. Maybe we’ll get to know each other a little better too. I’d uh, I’d like that- a- a lot, actually.”

And though he was wondering just how much you could get to know a person over the space of sixty minutes, Peter found himself smiling and nodding. Up until then, Collins had seemed almost entirely unshakeable, so the little slip-up had caught him off guard. Maybe this  _had_ been flirting. Maybe Collins was just as nervous as he was.

Peter stood up from his perch, stretching until his shoulder gave a satisfying _'_ _pop'_. He held out his hand for the other to take, only just resisting the urge to squeeze it and refuse to let go.

“Me too,” he said, hoping he hadn't looked  _too_ disappointed when Collins had taken his hand back. "I'd- I'd like that a lot too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah btw in case you've not encountered me before almost everything i do is dialogue heavy and i hope that's okay!! because it's just who i am as a person
> 
> hope you liked the chapter! much love <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more bonding. A lot more finding out of things. And maybe, just maybe, a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is maybe more of what i'd call a chit-chatty chapter, as in we get a little context for both of their situations through their conversations. i hope you enjoy it! <3

As it turned out, you could learn quite a lot about somebody over the course of an hour.

Collins had thrown up on his mum after she’d helped a drunken version of his younger self try to climb the stairs to bed, and had been banned from hanging out with his friends for a week as a punishment, for one.

Collins lived alone now, in his gran’s old house. He couldn't _really_  afford a place to stay, but he knew he was outgrowing the home he shared with his mother and two sisters, and he figured that perhaps she must have known that too, because she’d left the place for him in her will.

He had a dog; a big border collie called Meg, who his younger sister was babysitting for him while he was on holiday with his friends. They were visiting Dogworth for one of the group's stag do. Collins had named the entire group, but Peter couldn't really remember them all. The friend who was getting married's name was Charlie, he knew that much. Charlie and Collins were relatively close, but not so close as Collins and Farrier- whom the former had cited as being like a brother.

“Known each other since we were only wee bairns in primary, barely been a day that we haven't spoken, even when he moved back down south in secondary," he'd explained with a smile, and Peter recognised that one in particular. It was the same smile he reserved for talking about George, and all the things they'd gotten up to in their youth. It was nostalgic. Warm.

Collins then told him about how he'd moved down from the Highlands to the Borders when he was only nine, partially because his Mum had wanted to be closer to his Gran, and partially because;

“There was just fuck all to do in the first town I lived in. It wasn't bad by any means, but Mum wanted me to, y'know, have a decent handful of opportunities I suppose.”

Opportunities like college, which Collins had attended for a couple of years. Opportunities like the RAF, that he’d been a part of ever since he'd finished it.

“The two of us joined together, me and Farrier. The jobs vary sometimes, but it's good. Get to travel around a bit. And the money is, y’know, decent _."_

Peter smiled and nodded, though in truth he'd already known a lot about the service as it was. His brother Mark had joined it a couple of years prior, and had told him all about it in his emails home.

“I thought money wasn't everything?” He teased, daring to stick out his tongue. Collins just pulled a face in return, which had only made Peter laugh more.

But then had come the question Peter had been dreading all afternoon.

“What about you then, smartarse?”

Oh god, what about Peter?

He’d dropped out of university (he  _liked_ Geography well enough, turns out he just didn't _love it_ ). He’d never really held down a job (outside of bar work and helping out on his dad’s boat, at least), and he wasn’t exactly doing a lot to change the fact, either- not because he didn't want to, moreso because, well, he didn't really know how.

“Ah, not- um… Not up to much really," he mumbled, not liking the worried look in Collins' eyes after the laughing had come to a sudden halt. "I'm just- just floating about here, y’know; helping out on the boat, little jobs for other locals sometimes. It’s ah, I’m still-” He trailed off, tucking his hands up into his sleeves and untucking them just as quickly. A nervous habit he'd picked up as a child.

“You have loads of time, you know that right?”

The look of worry had dawned into something Peter thought could have been recognition. He wasn't sure if that was any more or less comforting.

“Huh?” 

“You have loads of time,” Collins repeated softly, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. The sleeve tucking stopped, Peter's hands stilling in an instant. He'd heard about the time he supposedly had maybe a thousand times before, but this time felt different, somehow. The other continued; “there’s too much rushing around these days, that's what Mum always says. Get an education, get a job, get a family, in that order-  right? It’s stupid, you- loads of people don't know what they want to do yet, you don't have to worry about being one of them. Keep floating for a little while. It’s okay, it always works out one way or another.”

“You mean that?”

Collins' mouth pulled into a slight frown- though it wasn't angry, or upset. More determined.

“Yeah, I do.”

He retracted his hand shortly afterwards, and Peter found himself missing the contact dearly. Collins’ fingers dangled almost painfully close to his own, and he thought for a moment about grabbing them- though decided it would probably be weird if he did.

Wouldn't it? But then Collins had touched  _him_ , so where did that leave them? Could he touch back? Was that how it worked?

“I- I should probably- Dad’ll be wondering where I-” He stuttered out instead, shoving his hands deep into his pockets to try and stave off the temptation. He could feel himself blushing, and just hoped that the other wouldn't notice it in the afternoon sun. 

“O-oh, right, yeah, sorry,” and then Collins was blushing too, and Peter was really struggling not to stare. “I’m terrible at timekeeping, I’d probably have kept on chatting your ear off until midnight if you’d let me.”

“I might have done, if I didn’t have to go and help with the boat.”

Peter realised that that might have been the most confident he had sounded all day, but found himself no longer caring quite so much about the way he was talking. If the two of them _were_  flirting, which at this point he was fairly certain they might have been, then he might as well give it his all.

“I’d have liked that, actually. Maybe if you can find some time to sneak away from the others again, I could show you round a little more. And you could tell me more about Scotland, I’ve never really been before, so-”

“I could take you, someday.”

“You- you…" Peter cursed the words that wouldn't crawl out from his throat. "Yeah?” He squeaked instead, almost wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut.

“To ah, to return the favour, I mean,” Collins mumbled, suddenly coming over all shy. Peter was sure he could see the same blush from earlier creeping back into his cheeks, and found it oddly reassuring to know he wasn't alone in the sensation. “You know, play the unpaid tour-guide for once. You think the coast is nice here, you should see it up near Inverness-”

Oh god, Peter wanted to kiss him. Peter wanted to kiss him more than he’d ever wanted to do anything in his entire life before that moment. He could barely tear his gaze away from the other’s lips, eventually managing to force himself to- just as Collins had finished rambling about the views from Cromarty, or wherever the hell else he’d been talking about.

“Were you even listening to me?”

_Fuck._

Collins only chuckled, drawing his lip between his teeth to chew on it a little. “It’s alright," he began quietly, and the urge to kiss him came hurtling back. "I wouldn’t be offended if you said no- not like… Not like we, y’know, you barely even know me, I’m just another tourist, I-”

“No I- I’d love to, actually, I think, yeah- yeah actually, I think I would. Might… You might have to take me out for dinner first, of course.”

Peter wished he could say the delivery had been smooth, but in all honesty it was more of a jumbled mess than even _he_ could really interpret- and he’d successfully negotiated fairly in depth pub-crawling terms with George after five or six ciders more often than once.

The silence that hung over them was terrifying- had he said the wrong thing? Was he too bold? He’d always cursed himself for never quite being brave enough, but maybe- maybe that was the way he was supposed to-

“Dinner, yeah?” Collins finally breathed, his grin more than warm enough to melt the ice that had settled in the depths of Peter’s chest. “I’m sure- I’m sure we could find time for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter! shouldnt be too far away! and then after that, we have a slightly longer one in George's POV, just to mix things up a little 
> 
> hope you liked it! much love <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Dawsons are perhaps some of the loveliest parents ever. that's pretty much it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! sorry this is somewhat later than id hoped it would be, im actually leaving for uni on saturday (big scary life change that i am in NO way actually prepared for) and ive been pretty busy as of late because of it.  
> i have chapters 6-8 almost ready to go so! im hoping to have all that up soon so there's more content and less waiting around (which sucks i know), however i am gonna be busy for the next weekish so sorry in advance if updates get a little slow around then!!
> 
> right, without further rambling, i hope you enjoy the chapter! thank you for all of the kudos and lovely comments, they mean the world! <3

The two of them had separated not long after that; Collins heading back to his hotel, and Peter back to the docks. The latter was brimming with a nervous energy, heart thumping loudly against his ribs at the prospect of a _date_ \- which it was, he’d decided. It _so_ was.

They hadn't actually been able to arrange a time or a place between themselves during the short walk back to town, though Peter had promised to join Collins and his friends for drinks later- and to bring George, too. He was pleased about the prospect of inviting George, because as much as he liked Collins, he was a little scared of meeting the rest of his friends all on his own. He wondered maybe if Collins knew it, too, given that he’d been the one to suggest it.

There _was_  a small part of him that was dreading having to keep a tipsy George in line around the man he’d found himself falling for hard and fast, sure (especially after their meeting earlier), but he’d figure out how to deal with that later. 

Right then, he had to figure out something a little more pressing.

What was he going to wear?

“So-”

His dad’s voice startled him a lot more than he'd like to admit, and he could feel himself beginning to blush.

“You’ve been hauling that particular pot in for ooh, I’d say ten minutes now," the man laughed, though not unkindly. He made a show of glancing at his watch, inspecting it a little too closely to be considered a genuine move. "And it’s been on the deck for, oh, definitely fifteen.”

Peter glanced down at the rope in his hands, and then to where it led- which was, in fact, to a pot already lying on the deck. His palms were sore and red, though nowhere  _near_ as red as his face- the blush having deepened almost tenfold at being called out so blatantly. 

“Sorry, I-” He began, stumbling over his words. His dad cut him off with a shake of his head and a smile.

“Don't think I haven't noticed," he chuckled, turning away to continue with his work. "You think I’m too old to know love when I see it?”

Peter choked on thin air.

“It’s- I don't- it’s not-” He spluttered, his dad’s soft laughter doing nothing much to calm his nerves. “We’re not- he’s-”

_He._ The first verbal acknowledgement. That was terrifying. He shouldn't have done that- what if- what if-?

“You know, your mother was a tourist here once. And she’s lived here, what, thirty years now? You’d better hope that boy doesn’t mind the rain.”

Peter found himself starting to smile, the thought of ever being terrified to tell his father anything seeming sillier than ever. “He’s um- he’s from Scotland, actually, so-”

“Oh,” his dad hummed in return, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well in that case, Dogworth’s positively tropical in comparison.”

A giggle bubbled up from somewhere deep in Peter's chest, and he barely managed to suppress it- the laughter eventually bursting out from behind his hand. “I-" He hiccuped, trying his best to calm himself down. "We’re going out for drinks, later; me and a group of his friends. And George! George is coming too.”

“Well then, we’d better hurry up and finish hauling these. You can't go out reeking of fish, that’ll get you nowhere.”

“I don't-”

Peter's dad had turned back to face him at that, raising his brows in disbelief.

"Yes, son, you do.”

Taking a quick sniff of his jumper when his dad had turned back around, Peter couldn't help thinking the man might have a point.

* * *

Peter had washed his hair three times by the time ‘later’ actually rolled around, and changed outfits a grand total of seven. He’d eventually settled on a different, non-fishy jumper and jeans, and boots that had seen better days. He hoped that would turn out to be enough, though enough for what yet he still hadn't quite figured out. Enough for Collins, maybe. He wanted to be enough for Collins.

“You look smart." His mum had smiled as he finally joined her and George (who’d been early, as usual) in the kitchen. The two of them had been sat opposite one another at the table in the corner; a mug of tea in Mrs Dawson's hands, and a glass of Pepsi in George's. The sight wasn't unusual to Peter in the slightest, but it made him a little bit anxious nonetheless. After all, when his mum and George got together like this, it could usually only mean one thing. Gossip- and more often than not about him, too. 

“He has to," George grinned slyly, and Peter was already pretty sure he was going to kill him for what he knew was coming next. "He’s trying to pull a tourist.”

Yeah, George was a goner.

“Ooh nice, is she pretty?” Mrs Dawson beamed from behind her tea, evidently overjoyed with the information she'd just been blessed with.

“He’s Scottish, so probably-” Mr Dawson interjected before, Peter could even have a chance to open his mouth. He soon joined the three of them in the kitchen with a knowing glint in his eye, though didn't say anything else on the matter- just shared a quick nod with his wife before busying himself with washing a few of the dishes that had been left waiting in the sink. 

Peter tensed in the now silent room; watching as realisation began to dawn across his mother’s face. He braced himself for confrontation, and began rifling through explanations and excuses and _'oh god please don't be upset with me'_ s in his head. Though really, he supposed; he should have known better. 

“Oh now that _is_ a handsome accent,” she had beamed after only a minute's contemplation, reaching up to ruffle her son's hair. Warmth seeped from her touch, and the tension of five minutes ago ebbed quietly away beneath it. Peter inwardly sighed with relief. Of course his mum would be okay with it- hell, he could probably count the number of things she _wouldn't_  be okay with on only one of his hands; and even then he probably wouldn't have to use all of his fingers.

“You’ll have to bring him over for tea sometime. George, you make sure to point him out to me if we ever see him on the street won't you?”

“Of course,” George grinned, shooting Peter a wink. “Make sure you’re always carrying his baby pictures, just in case-”

“Sorry, is today let's make fun of Peter day or something? Did I miss it on the calendar?"

“That's every day, is it not?”

“Now George, you better not be bullying my son,” Mrs Dawson warned sternly, though her smirk rendered the threat almost entirely redundant. “Only I get to make fun of him daily, alright? You can do it on the weekends.”

“Cheers Mum, I’ll remember that,” Peter grumbled, though even he couldn't stop himself from smiling. “I shouldn't be back too late, should I take a key?”

“I’ll leave one for you under the doormat- will you remember where it is?”

“Probably not, no." 

“Excellent! Well, if all else fails, you can always climb in through the window again,” Mrs Dawson chuckled, taking another sip of her tea. Peter wondered if she was  _ever_ going to stop bringing that up, especially since he hadn't even been the one to suggest trying it in the first place.

“That was Mark’s idea, not mine!” He reminded her, balancing on one leg as he fastened up his boots. 

“I know who’s idea it was," she shook her head, reaching out to nudge him a little. She tittered as he wobbled on the spot, only just managing to catch himself in time. "Oh George, why can't my two boys be as good as you?”

“George was the one who pissed in the-” Peter began again, determined not to be the family scapegoat any longer.

“Language, Peter! Honestly, I raised you better-”

“Right, that’s it, I’m leaving,” he mock-frowned instead, shoving a laughing George’s arm on his way to pick up a coat. “You coming? Or are you staying here to gossip with your real best friend?”

“Tough choice,” George grinned, fastening up his jacket. “But I have to get more of it for Sharon, don't I?”

“Oh yes, you do, we've exhausted all of our new material already tonight. Right then, I’ll let you get on, come here, I’ll not touch your hair again I promise-” Mrs Dawson rambled, standing up to pull her son into one last hug before he left.

And with a final promise of staying safe and taking care and not getting _too_ drunk (or climbing through any windows again, though seriously- that had only been the _one time_ ); Peter and George had set off for the bar- hands tucked deep into their pockets, and hearts overflowing with warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i knooooow the boat the Dawsons owned in Dunkirk was more of a pleasure type thing, but hey! fishing is cool too, right? (also boats make great conversational arenas too, imo, so.... let me have this, please;-))
> 
> i hope you enjoyed the chapter!! six shouldnt be too far away now!
> 
> much love! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one! is written in George's POV, and goodness, am i sorry. i am SO sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as it's written in George's POV, this chapter is a liiiittle bit longer than the others i think? i hope thats okay!!
> 
> there are some more sliiiightly spoilery notes at the end, which is why im keeping this so brief. but i hope! that you enjoy the chapter, and i promise- i am sorry <3

Peter Dawson was fantastic at pool.

There wasn’t a patron of the Ship’s Head who would disagree with the fact.

It was like he’d been born playing, an old man had once quipped after having watched him effortlessly destroy three challengers in a row. George himself had given up on playing against him long ago- instead trying to persuade him to give darts a try, just so he could be in with a chance of actually getting somewhere for once (not that he was particularly good at darts, either, but still).

Something else worth noting about Peter that George had also come to realise, however, was that he was an incredibly flirty drunk. Not just that- he was surprisingly smooth, too, and much, _much_ bolder than a completely stone-cold sober version of his friend would ever dare to be. Very rarely did Peter's endeavours get him anywhere at all, though he had managed to blag a fair few free drinks with his charms. 

George would admit, he was slightly surprised when Peter had opted to sit the first few rounds of pool out.

But when Peter had finally stepped up to take on George himself, the latter suddenly completely understood.

“I- I’ve never played much before actually, so I’m probably rubbish,” Peter lied, and George had to stop himself from cackling at the innocent look his friend was busy trying to forge. It must have worked somehow though, because Collins then volunteered to teach him; leaning over Peter and taking his hand in his; helping him to line up a shot.

Peter caught George’s eye and winked after that, and once again George found himself struggling not to laugh. He tried his best to concentrate on his cider instead, though ended up snorting into it as he watched his friend flick his wrist at the last second, sending the white ball careering off the table.

“Oh- sorry!”

“It’s fine, try- here, give me your hand-”

George went to take a shot of his own (two, in fact, as you do when someone cocks up their own that badly), and managed to pot two yellows. He was secretly pretty pleased with Peter’s tipsy scheming; firstly because it was good (and hilarious) to see the other being a little bolder with his flirtations for once, and secondly because- well, it was making him look bloody brilliant at the game in comparison.

“Is your mate _really_ that shit at pool?” A gruff voice snapped George’s gaze away from the table, where his friend was pressed up ridiculously close against Collins- leaning back into him in a way that was almost obscene as the latter helped him to try and take another shot. He couldn't wait to tease Peter about it in the morning, the decision to join them for drinks proving more and more worthwhile with every minute.

He shifted on his feet a little, finally turning to face the owner of the voice- Farrier, who was leaning against the bar next to him, pint in hand.

“Hmmm, I _do_  think he’s milking it a _little_ ,” George answered as honestly as he could, a wry smile worming it’s way onto his lips as Peter finally managed to pot a red; both him and Collins looking almost excited enough to kiss. "You'll have to apologise to your mate for me, I should probably have taught him myself a while back."

“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Col’s probably loving it,” Farrier chuckled in response. George meant to ask him what he meant by it too, but then it was his turn to play again, and he’d forgotten his question entirely upon his return to the bar.

“Sometimes I wonder if we should just leave them to it,” Charlie; a friend of Collins and Farrier’s (and the one who’s stag do the group of them were on) had commented later, as Peter and Collins attempted another shot- Peter’s first on his own that game, in fact, which of course he _somehow_ managed to miss. A few of the others in the group hummed in amused agreement, though they were far more interested in the football showing on the TV than anything else going on around them at the time.

George didn't understand how anyone could be more focused on some daft game on the telly, and  _not_  be interested in what was going on _right before their eyes_ at all. It was almost like a nature documentary, George thought- having to resist the temptation to whip out the David Attenborough impression with each of Peter’s new tactics.

_And here we have the normally shy and retiring Peter Dawson attempting to secure a mate with a display unparalleled in the natural world. Observe, how he almost smashes a pint glass with the pool cue just to have a potential suitor lean over him and help him correct himself again. Well played._

The game finished not long after that, with George being declared the (wholly unsurprising) winner. Peter bought him his next drink as a prize, completely unable to wipe the too-smug grin off of his face.

“Thanks for rigging it for me,” George chuckled, clinking his newly purchased glass against Peter’s. “I haven't beat you in a _long_ time.”

“George, babe,” Peter’s voice dropped to a comical whisper, and George tried his best to pretend he was listening seriously. “I wasn't rigging that for you.”

George couldn't help himself from smirking at the confession- after all; it was one thing to know something for yourself, but it was another to hear it straight from

the horse’s mouth. He’d wondered after that if maybe the fun would stop there, but luckily for him; it didn't.

The _real_  fun came when Farrier then stepped up to take Peter on, deciding it was a game he absolutely could _not_ lose.

Only it was. Peter had managed to pot half of the table within ten minutes, and had ended the game victorious in sixteen.

“Beginner’s luck,” he'd shrugged, biting his lip to hold back another sly grin.

George wasn't exercising any such restraint, doubled over laughing at Farrier’s completely gobsmacked expression.

“That's _some_ beginner’s luck right there, are you- look, I’m a good teacher, but-”

George would have been jealous, maybe, of how smoothly his friend went on to handle the call out from Collins, if he weren't so bloody pleased for him. A genuine warmth had begun to seep into his chest- the kind he often reserved for home-game wins, or breakfast with Mrs Dawson. Peter deserved every kindness that came his way, at least that's what George had always thought, and he supposed that Collins seemed more than kind enough.

And if he wasn't, George was fairly confident he could take him in a fight. Height differences be damned.

“You lot fancy moving to a new pub? The game’s finished, so we figured we might get the Metro to the next town over and try some of the bars across there.”

“Yeah, that sounds great actually- George found himself, Peter and Collins both nodding along in agreement with him.

The journey to the station was mostly uneventful; though George was quick to notice the way Peter’s fingers would brush against Collins’ with almost every step. Another fun thing to add to the list of things to call him out for in the morning- a list that George had gladly been compiling in his head from the moment they’d first set out together that evening, actually.

The group had dwindled a little by the time they finally reached the little station, a few of them having slunk off back to their hotel rooms on the way. As it stood, there were six of them; Collins, Farrier, Peter, two others, and George himself. Charlie had gone back to call his fiancée and let her know they were all well and good, and the others were mostly just tired.

“The next one is in- ah fuck, it’s in an hour,” Peter grumbled, dragging Collins forward to make sure he’d read the sign right. After George and the others had also double checked (or quadruple checked in George’s case, as he’d also pulled up a timetable on his phone _just to be sure_ ), the six of them had concluded that perhaps it might not be worth the wait after all.

“Well, I think- do you lot just wanna head back in? I think that's probably what I’m gonna do-” Someone muttered, and the two friends who’s names George had never quite caught soon began heading back to the hotel as well.

Which left them with a group that George would have described as being the dream team, had he been given an opportunity to do so out loud.

The four of them- George, Peter, Collins, and Farrier- stood for a moment in the hazy glow of a streetlight and pondered their next move.

They eventually settled on heading back to the first bar they’d visited for another couple of rounds of pool; Peter jokily promising to play honestly and George promising to let the others know sooner if he wasn’t.

At some point during the night, George figured Peter must have complained about being cold; because now he was wearing Collins’ old RAF jacket, and was tucked under it’s previous owner’s arm.

Farrier had tried to ask them about the situation between them back when they'd only just started leaving the station, but had only been met with laughter and cries of “it’s freezing”- even though George was more than comfortable in his light jacket and shirt.

He and Farrier took to mocking the two of them when given a chance to after that, each taking the role of their respective friend. George had actually kind of enjoyed being Peter for the most part, though Farrier wasn't really his type. He’d earned himself a playful smack across the back of the head for voicing the fact, the others dissolving into laughter at the sight.

So caught up in their laughter had they been, in fact, that none of them had seen the figure emerging from an alleyway nearby- stumbling; drunk.

“Where the _fuck_ were you?”

All four heads turned at that, a chorus of confused ‘huh’s echoing in the darkness of the otherwise empty street.

The figure then suddenly lunged at Peter, making a grab for the collar of his jacket.

 _Collins’ jacket,_ George corrected in his head.

Collins’  _RAF_ jacket.

“Where the fuck- you never- do you have any idea-”

It was as if time had stopped completely. Peter was frozen in the attacker’s grip- an older man, whom George vaguely recognised. He had the feeling he’d seen him around town before, or perhaps his photo in the local Gazette. It didn't matter who the figure was now though, not really, he supposed.

“It’s not- it’s not his jacket, leave him alone-”

Collins being the first to step forward in defence of Peter surprised almost no-one, except perhaps George himself, who was finding it harder and harder to breathe. He had always usually been the one to leap straight in fists first into arguments, especially if it meant protecting a friend; but this had been an entirely new experience for him.

To his relief, the man had let go of Peter, though was now instead rounding on Collins for intervening.

“You have any idea how many boys died on those beaches? Because of _you_ , because-”

George wasn't really sure had happened next, but the man must have thrown a punch, because Collins was staggering backwards. Farrier caught him and managed to hold him steady, but then Peter was back in the fray, and then suddenly George was in between them; his feet finally coming unstuck. He tried his best to fend off the man, not wanting his friends to get hurt any more but not wanting to hurt him, either.

A light flicked on somewhere down the street, and footsteps began sprinting towards them. The man had calmed down for a fraction of a second, for which George was immensely grateful, because it meant that he could finally-

But he couldn't, as the man then appeared to find a new lease of life- lurching forward with just enough force to knock George off of his feet before lumbering back up the side street he’d emerged from earlier in the night.

The fall had been quick, too quick for anyone to have stopped him in time, and George knew it, too. He hoped that Peter wouldn't blame himself for it, and wished more than anything he’d had time to tell him not to.

His head hit the curb with an almighty _crack,_ and then the world was quiet, and dark. He thought maybe he could hear someone shouting his name; though figured that could just as easily have been a dream. He wondered momentarily if it had all been a dream- if he would wake up in his bed (or Peter's, as was often the case) and none of this would be real.

But it was real. Too real. And he was sure he could hear the shouting now; Peter calling out to him, telling him not to fall asleep.

But then the shouting had gotten quieter still, and soon the world had fallen silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i genuinely feel awful about the angsty turn this took, but i promise! i promise, every cloud. hang in there. 
> 
> i hope writing in George's POV worked out as i hoped it would too aaah, and that! despite the ending, you still enjoyed it! 
> 
> much love (and also lots of hugs and apologies all around), and i'll be back very soon with more! <3
> 
> ps i posted this at like 2:40 am so! if there are any mistakes anywhere, apologies, ive proofread it like twenty times but ill do it again in the morning too just to be sure x


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back to Peter's POV. im still sorry. also, Farrier is a wonderful friend to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! today's gonna be a mad one. im going to try and get one, maybe two more chapters up after this one if i can (in between packing and a driving lesson and life jargon like that, at least)!
> 
> hope you enjoy the ride! <3

It had taken all of four minutes for Peter Dawson's world to fall silent- though he could still just about make out the soft hiccuping sound of muffled sobs, and the dull but erratic pounding of his heart. He was vaguely aware of a hand resting on his shoulder, trying desperately hard to keep him grounded, but he was far too focused on the head cradled carefully in his lap to care much for anything else beyond it.

The head belonged to George. George, Peter's oldest and dearest friend. George, who'd stepped up to try and defend him. George, who lay whining softly in pain, responses growing weaker by the second. Peter did his best to try and keep him awake, keep him talking, but he was starting to find it a little difficult to keep talking himself.

The hand he’d been using to support the back of George's neck came away sticky with blood. Peter swallowed back a few more tears, and began wiping it off on his jeans.

“Keep pressure on it. And don’t let him fall asleep,” a voice to his left urged him. The hand on his shoulder tensed. “It’s okay, he’ll be okay, it’s okay-”

For whoever the voice belonged to, Peter was grateful. He had a feeling it might have been the same person to whom the hand had belonged too, but he couldn't quite be certain of it, not yet. 

He knew George would tell him off for playing the blame game if he were able to, but Peter couldn’t help it. After all, if _he_ hadn’t invited George out, none of this would have happened, right? Peter took the deepest breath he could manage, before exhaling it shakily into the cold night air.

Someone must have called an ambulance at some point during the ordeal, because flashing lights soon arrived and snapped him straight out of his thoughts. Relief washed over him for a second as more capable hands swiftly lifted George out of his own, though he was still left with the metallic tang of worry in his mouth.

Somewhat to Peter's surprise, when the ambulance driver asked who could alert the boy’s family, it had been Farrier who had stepped up to answer them.

“I-I’ll let them know. Can these two go with you?” He gestured towards Peter and Collins, whom Peter immediately realised must have been the voice in his ear. Gratitude warmed right through him, though the grim smile the driver had flashed them in return had soon put an end to that.

“Sorry, they’ll have to make their own way there.”

“That’s fine,” Collins replied firmly, standing up beside Peter. The same hand that had rested on Peter’s shoulder was now dangling down towards him; an invitation. Peter took it with only a moment’s hesitation, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet.

“It’s just- it’s not too far away, a twenty minute walk maybe,” his own voice sounded alien to him; thick with unshed tears. He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, still coated thickly in George’s blood. “I’ll- you two, you can go back to the hotel, I’ll go-”

“Are you mad?” Collins made a noise that on a better night could have been a laugh. “I- as long as I wouldn't be intruding, I’m coming with you, Peter.”

“What’s George’s address?” Farrier interrupted suddenly, tapping away urgently on his phone, “I know- I know he said it wasn't far-”

Peter shook his head.

“Go- go to mine. Get dad. His- George’s parents are, um… A bit funny, sometimes. I live- here, give me your phone, I’ll show you.”

Peter took the device from Farrier's hands and typed in the address as quickly as his shaking hands would allow him to.

“There- they- can you tell them-”

If Peter was being honest, Farrier was absolutely not the type of man Peter would ever dream of describing as being soft- but the kindness with which the other had reached out towards him to clap him softly on the arm had him changing his mind in an instant. He almost began laughing himself, knowing that his mother would have scolded him for passing such quick judgements in the first place.

“Of course. I’ll tell them what I can. And then- Col, do you want me to come get you, or-?”

Collins shook his head. “Just head back and tell the others what happened, I’ll meet you there later. Thanks, this, you-”

Farrier offered him a small smile. “Don't mention it,” he shrugged.

He took of into the night at that, and it was then that that Peter had finally crumbled.

“Hey hey, easy now, it’s okay, I’ve got you, it’s okay-”

A pair of strong arms wrapped around his middle, holding him steady as he tried to calm himself back down.

“I- sorry- this- you’re supposed to be on holiday- and-” He gasped between breaths, which were coming far too quickly for comfort. Collins had only shook his head again at the attempted apology, chewing on his lip before speaking up again.

“This isn't your fault, Peter, I promise you that. And if it helps I mean, the stag do itself was the first weekend we got here. The rest was just- y’know, we could go off and do our own things and that would be fine. But that really doesn't matter anyways, me and the others are the last thing you should be worrying about toniht. Come on, let's go make sure he’s okay, yeah? It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’m here.”

Collins pulled away to look him in the eyes, and Peter instantly made a grab for his hand, almost entirely without thinking.

He panicked a little upon realising what he’d done, and half expected Collins to drop it. But Collins didn't; instead lacing their fingers together and squeezing lightly.

“Lead the way.”

So Peter did. He guided them through winding streets, sometimes breaking out into a half-run on the ones less occupied by people and moreso by shops. The walk was mostly quiet, save for Collins’ occasional hand squeezes and murmured reminders that everything was going to be okay.

Peter’s lungs felt like they might just give out by the time they skidded to a halt in front of the hospital doorway, breathless and cold.

“Do you- you still want me to-” Collins began awkwardly, shuffling about on his feet.

“Please.”

And for the first time that night, Peter squeezed back.

Asking at reception about the whereabouts of their friend had proven to be only semi-useful, though they had managed to get a general sense of the direction they should be heading in at least. Peter hated hospitals. He’d hated them ever since he was little, and his brother had been rushed into one after a nasty accident when he’d only just joined the services. It should have killed him, at least that's what the doctors had said.

Peter was glad that it hadn't, and had been wary of doctors from that very moment forward.

“Here,” Collins stopped, nodding down one of the many corridors near-identical corridors that they'd come across on their journey. “It’s down here.”

He managed to catch a passing nurse on their way along it, and she’d informed them that yes; there had been a young man brought in not long ago, and that he was stable but that that was all that she could tell them for now. She pointed them in the direction of another waiting room, promising to be out with any news for them on George's well-being as soon as soon as it came her way.

By the time they'd actually made it to the waiting room, the exhaustion of the day had finally caught up with Peter, and he collapsed onto one of the uncomfortable looking chairs- head resting firmly in his hands.

“See, he’s stable. That’s good news, isn't it?”

Collins soon occupied the seat beside him, taking a deep breath. His left hand rested on Peter’s lower back, rubbing small soothing circles against the fabric of his jumper.

“As good as I guess we’ll get,” Peter sighed in reply, being careful not to crush the other's hand as he slumped back in his chair. Ordinarily the thought of leaning his head on Collins’ shoulder would have terrified him, but he was much too tired to care- and so found himself doing exactly that.

He thought perhaps that he'd heard Collins murmur something against his temple, but he couldn't quite make out what.

The hand on his back kept going, even as he began drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im asking you kindly to trust me on the george front, like, im not gonna give anything away, but please...... trust me ;)
> 
> anyways!!! busy day ahead. gonna try and get another chapter up soon though!! ive almost caught up to myself in terms of posting/writing, and while i wouldnt like to make any promises i cant keep, i have a feeling it's going to be 12ish chapters long in total. thanks so much for sticking by and reading by the way! it means the bloody world, and all of the comments are so lovely too!! couldnt be doing this without your support, i appreciate it muchly 
> 
> lotta love <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collin's POV. meeting the parents. kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's all moved into uni?? this gal!!
> 
> goodness i am so sorry for how long it took me to get this up and out, just haven't really had chance to sit down and edit properly all week!! fresher's has been a blast though (from what i can remember at least lmao)
> 
> i hope! you enjoy the chapter!! writing from Collins POV was an adventure and id perhaps like to do it again someday so! feel free to let me know what you think of it <3

Collins had never met Peter’s dad before, and if he was being honest; the hospital wasn't exactly the place he’d exactly planned to be doing so for the first time.

He wondered if perhaps he should have stood up when Mr Dawson had first entered the waiting room, and have introduced himself the proper way- handshake and all. But Peter was still asleep against his side, his soft breaths tickling his neck; and Collins just couldn't bring himself to disturb him.

“Hi,” he whispered instead, careful not to jostle Peter too much as he manoeuvred himself into a more upright sitting position. His shoulder ached a little from supporting the other's sleeping frame, but he didn't mind too much- not really.

Not at all.

“Hello,” Mr Dawson whispered back, taking a seat opposite the two of them. He was a very softly-spoken man, Collins noted; mild mannered, and with very kind eyes. Eyes that also harboured a mischievous knowing twinkle at the sight of his sleeping son, which left Collins torn between blushing and laughing. “You must be-”

“Collins, well, Arthur Collins but I- I go by-” 

“Collins,” Mr Dawson repeated, nodding with a smile. Collins relaxed instantly, wondering why he'd ever been so nervous about the meeting in the first place.

But then Peter's hand slipped forward and brushed his thigh, and he remembered in an instant.

“Your friend told me you’d be here, and a little of what happened. Are you okay?”

Collins nodded slowly around a yawn, not even trying to cover his mouth. His mum would have scolded him for his manners (or lack thereof), but it was late, and his hands were otherwise occupied. 

“Yeah, I- don't worry about me," he replied once he'd finished. "I think Peter is okay too, just a bit shaken up, and tired.”

Mr Dawson chuckled.

“He’s always tired, I’m surprised he hasn't fallen asleep on you sooner. Would you- would you mind waking him up a second, I just need to-”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Peter, hey,” Collins shook his arm gently, keeping his voice quiet. He didn't want to startle him, after all. “Peter, wake up-”

Peter stirred with a soft moan, one that sent the blood rushing straight to Collins’ cheeks. He tried to ignore the laughter from the man sat opposite him, and shook Peter’s arm again. Sea blue eyes peeked open; bleary and slow with exhaustion.

“H-huh- what- oh, oh god, sorry, I-” Peter sprang to life upon realising where he'd fallen asleep, jolting up and away almost as if he'd been electrocuted. Collins would be lying if he said he didn't immediately miss the weight of Peter against his side, but he kept that to himself. He could tell Peter about how he felt another day. Right?

“It’s okay,” he soothed instead, holding a finger to his lips to quiet the other man down. "It’s okay. Your dad’s here, he wants to speak to you.”

Peter’s face flushed crimson at the sight of his dad sat across from them, and Collins resisted the urge to laugh. It was cute, he decided, really cute.

And so was Peter.

“George is- do you-” 

“Yes, I heard,” Mr Dawson replied matter-of-factly. His warm smile of before had grown a little grimmer, and Collins was reminded once again of the sombre reason they were waiting there in the first place. Peter's shoulders drooped, and Collins wanted to reach out and hold him again.

“Your mother’s going to call his parents in the morning," Mr Dawson continued, "he's going to- we're going to ask if he wants to stay with us for a week or so after all this is done though."

Peter nodded solemnly, "I'll sort the bed out first thing."  

"Do you two want to head home? I’ll call as soon as there’s any news, I promise. It's been a long night, you should get some rest- proper rest, I mean. At least you've managed to scrape some, poor Collins here has been trying to keep you-"

Peter made a noise somewhere between a startled laugh and an indignant yelp, and Collins found himself chuckling too despite everything else. Though he soon felt his eyes growing heavy, and was inclined to agree with Mr Dawson's first point. Peter still must have been feeling just as tired too, because he nodded slowly- barely stifling a yawn.

Mr Dawson had offered them a lift home, but both had decided that some fresh air might do them a little good. Collins wasn't sure if the hand-holding was going to be a one time thing, but Peter had intertwined their fingers without a moment’s hesitation the second the cool night air had hit their skin, and he was secretly very glad of it.

A thousand and one different questions were balanced on the tip of his tongue that night, though he did his best to swallow them back. This wasn't the time for them- or for anything other than getting Peter home safely and finding out how George was doing, for that matter. He could ask Peter how he felt another day. He could ask Peter whether it was okay to kiss him or not another day. Every question he’d ever had could be answered another day.

Well, they could be. But then Collins was leaving in two of them.

He had to tell Peter, he knew that. But he couldn't, not tonight. Peter had much bigger and more important things to worry about than some tourist who’s heart he’d stolen having to go home. And oh, had Peter stolen his heart. Collins hadn't felt the way Peter made him feel in a  _long_ time. Light, cheerful. Relaxed, for once in his goddamn life. In fact, Collins was pretty sure he might just be in-

“Thank you-”

Peter's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Collins realised that they were stood outside his hotel. Peter stood before him, still holding his hand.

“Thank you, for- for tonight," he mumbled, giving Collins' hand a light squeeze. "I- I don't know… I don't think I could have done this on my own. Thank you.”

The sincerity with which the words were spoken struck fear into Collins’ chest. Maybe he wasn't the only one who’d fallen.

“It’s-” He swallowed thickly, willing himself to try and speak again. He had to reassure Peter, tell him not to worry. “It’s alright- I- I li- just let me know if you need anything, okay? Here-”

He dropped Peter’s hand and missed the feel of it immediately, but began fishing about in his pocket for his phone.

“Have you- you won't have a pen, but-”

“Here, I’ll-”

Collins handed his phone across, and gnawed on his lip as Peter typed away. He’d been hoping to try and get Peter’s number ever since he’d first laid eyes on him, though he’d never figured it might be in a situation like this.

“There, if- if you text me, I’ll- y’know, you know how getting numbers works, we’re both grown ups aren’t we?” Peter huffed out a laugh, and Collins wanted to kiss him. “Anyways, I- I’d better get going, you- thanks again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Collins breathed, not trusting himself to say much more than that. “Goodnight, Peter.”

“Night, Col.”

Collins stood there watching until Peter had disappeared into the night, heart hammering against his ribs.

He stumbled up to his room, where Farrier had been waiting for him. He told him everything they’d found out about George so far, before flopping down face first onto his bed. Farrier left him to it with a chuckle, and a hope that he'd be okay.

Collins waited until the door was firmly shut before delving into his pocket for his phone- finding Peter’s number right away. Ordinarily he’d be more nervous about texting anyone new (what if their styles didn't mesh with his? What if meanings got misconstrued, and he accidentally annoyed them?); but he was so tired that all he could really manage was a quick shout of ‘hope you got home safely, let me know if you need anything’ before face-planting his pillow again.

He waited one, maybe two minutes before sighing loudly and picking his phone up once more; following up the first text with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there! will be an alternate version of this scene up sometime soon! i cant say when, but there will be one!!
> 
> i hope you liked the chapter, i prooomise, things will be- well, i cant go giving it away now can i? 
> 
> more to come soon! thanks again for all of the lovely comments and kind words <3
> 
> much love! x


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter reflects on George. Mrs Dawson is mum goals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the real chapter nine. that got lost somehow somewhere in the shenanigans of fresher's week. i am genuinely so sorry about this oh man, i hope! you enjoy it nontheless! <3

Peter had barely gotten any sleep that night after Collins had text him. He’d replied with a quick ‘home safely, thank you’ and a kiss of his own, not wanting to dwell too hard on what it might mean.

He had much more important things on his mind, after all.

George.

George being in his life was something Peter had taken wholly for granted. They’d been friends for longer than he could remember; the two of them having been joined at the hip throughout the entirety of their school lives. George was always the first person he went to whenever he had anything to share; be it good news or bad.

He’d been the one who’d been there for Peter when Mark had been in the accident, the one who’d been there for him when he’d dropped out of university.

George had been there for him throughout so much of his life, and Peter supposed he had been there for George, too. In Year 7, when Rosie Basingdone had broken his heart by dumping him for some other kid via a note left in his lunchbox. The day his grandmother had been moved to the hospital permanently. The nights when the fighting at home would get too much, and George would climb through his window and curl up next to him under the covers- just for a little peace and quiet. The time George had come over covered in bruises after a bad grade, and Peter’s parents had let him stay the week.

Both of them always knew exactly what to say to the other to fix things, even if perhaps they didn't think they would. George could always make Peter laugh, even in the most awful of circumstances, and Peter could always calm George down, pulling him back to earth from whatever height he’d managed to climb his way up to in his own mind.

Peter sighed softly; the memories now as painful as they were sweet. He dressed slowly and methodically, thinking hard about every minute action in an effort to try and _stop_ thinking about his injured friend. He wondered if Collins would be awake, if he could text him again. Probably not, he concluded with another small sigh. Besides, Collins could probably use the rest.

Peter would admit he felt a little bad about falling asleep at the hospital for that very reason. He hoped the other hadn't thought him selfish for it, but then again, Collins didn't seem like the type who would. More than anything, Peter was glad he hadn't drooled- though he’d only ever done that once, on George’s arm. George had flung him off in mere seconds as soon as he’d noticed, and Peter huffed out a laugh at the memory despite himself.

 _George._ Peter hoped he would be okay- hoped for it more than he’d ever hoped for something in his entire life, in fact. He’d be utterly lost without George around. God, he’d even miss being mercilessly teased about Collins.

 _Collins._ Peter hoped he would be okay too. He couldn’t help feeling a little as though he’d ruined his week down in Dogworth, and made a mental note to make it up to him somehow once all of this was sorted out.

“Peter! Are you awake?”

“I- yeah, one second-” He called back, running a hand hastily through his hair. He wasn't overly keen on his mother’s tone, and the thought that something might have happened to George filled him right back up to the brim with worry.

He ran downstairs as fast as he could bring himself to, leaping over the pile of washing he was supposed to have tidied away over four days ago now. He’d get round to it eventually, of course, but he couldn’t help it- he’d been busy.

“Peter, sweetheart, come sit down a second, won't you?”

He made quick note of the tear tracks glistening on his mum’s cheeks, and braced himself for the worst as he took a seat on their well worn sofa.

“George is- well, he’s-” Peter’s heart was in his throat as she paused to take a breath, so he was more than a little confused when she’d just laughed. “Peter, George is- he’s awake, sweetheart, and he’s fine. They- he’s had some stitches, but it was just- well I mean, saying it was _just_ a concussion sounds kind of daft, but-”

Peter had stopped listening. He flung himself up off the sofa and into his mother’s arms, squeezing her as tightly as she’d allow it. He was laughing too now, almost in disbelief- though he should have known, really. George wouldn't leave him like that, not without ridiculing him over Collins just that little bit more. He pulled away with a half sob, half laugh, almost bouncing on the spot with joy.

“Can I- can I go and see him? When will he be home? Is he- can he stay here for a little while when he does? Is Dad still with him? Can we-”

“Slow down, slow down,” Mrs Dawson chuckled, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her cardie. “Yes, I think you can go and see him. Try not to overwhelm him though, okay? He’s been through a lot. We’ll answer the rest of those questions later. Go get your shoes on, I’ll drop you off if you like. Gosh you should have called last night and I would have come to get you, I never thought you’d be walking home on your own. _And_ I would finally have gotten to meet that young man of yours, you’re dad said he was-”

“Dad said he was what?”

“Well I was about to bloomin’ say, wasn’t I? He said he was nice. I’m excited to see him- oh, will we have to wear kilts to the wedding?”

_“Mum!”_

“I know, I know,” Mrs Dawson laughed sheepishly, “I won’t get too carried away. Have you text him to let him know George is okay? Oh! Do you have a photo of him? Go and get your shoes on, go- go!”

Peter grinned, his mum’s insistence that he should always be multitasking all of the time now more of a running joke between them than anything else. Peter had never multitasked before in his entire life, and had no intentions of ever doing so, either.

“I don’t have a photo of him,” he called from the hallway as he toed on his trainers, “but he is very handsome. I haven’t text him yet, I will after I’ve seen George, I- y’know, I want to be-”

“You want to be sure.”

Peter nodded, tugging on his jacket. He always liked to be sure of things. He wasn't sure about uni, so he left. He wasn't sure about the future, so he rarely addressed it.

He wasn't sure about Collins, and that frightened him a little. But he could be, he decided.

He could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry!! about!! the mix up!! gonna repost the other george scene very soon! 
> 
> much love <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and George converse. George brings out the #ladbanter again. It's a good time all round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yeah i love george mills (and i wouldnt even DREAM of killing him off i promise and im so sorry for ever even trying to hurt him at all)
> 
> i hope!! you enjoy the chapter! and the bants. i hope you enjoy the bants. <3
> 
> (REPOSTED CAUSE! I MADE A HUGE ERROR AND ACCIDENTALLY FORGOT THE CHAPTER BETWEEN THIS AND THE LAST)

<p>“So have you two shagged yet then or what?”</p>

<p>As far as first words after making a grand recovery from a would-be fatal head injury go; Peter figured that these were perhaps the most George Hills-ish words they could be.</p>

<p>“That's it?” He laughed incredulously anyways, still not quite daring to believe his friend was really okay. George remained a little too fragile looking for Peter to relax entirely; pale and tired, but his grin was still enough to light up the room. “The first thing you’re going to ask me when you wake up after almost dying, is if I’ve lost my virginity yet?”</p>

<p>“Well, yeah-” George cut back with a quirk of his brow, as though this were the most normal thing in the world. "Have you?"</p>

<p>Peter only laughed again; thoroughly relieved that his mother had decided to wait outside after all.</p>

<p>“No! Of course I bloody haven't!”</p>

<p>“What, not even in one of the supply cupboards? That's very in, at the moment, if the stuff my sister used to read is anything to go by-”</p>

<p>“No, actually. Having a best friend in a critical condition a few doors down really ruins the mood, y’know?” Peter took a seat on the foot of the bed, grinning. It felt strange to him- to be smiling so much after all that had occurred, but then George always did have a way of making people smile regardless of circumstance. Even when Peter had gone running to him crying after Mark’s accident, it had taken George only ten minutes to coax out a laugh; something about Peter being the ugliest crier he’d ever seen- that’s what had done it.</p>

<p>To be fair, Peter did have snot in his eyebrow at the time.</p>

<p>“Ah, shit,” George shook his head in faux disappointment. “Your wingman sounds like a right twat- you really should look into getting a new one. Honestly, who goes and knocks themselves out when trying to help their friend get a leg over? What an idiot”</p>

<p>“Oh you fucking- I’m so glad-” Peter began, suddenly overcome with emotion. Laughter still bubbled up from within him, though a few half-sobs managed to escape him too. George was his best friend. His oldest and dearest and most wonderful friend. And he’d survived- he was alive; and Peter wasn’t going to be alone after all. “I’m so glad you're okay-”</p>

<p>“Don't cry, don't make this weird-” George’s tone had softened greatly despite the joke, a hand reaching out to cover Peter’s.</p>

<p>“I love you, you know that don't you?”</p>

<p>“Oh fuck you’re making it weirder-”</p>

<p>“George! Will you just shut up and let me be a sap for like, two minutes? You’re my best friend, I couldn't- I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re like a brother to me. Another one, since y’know, Mark exists, and- oh- why the fuck did you try and step in?!”</p>

<p>“Because I’m the McGregor type, obviously,” George shrugged, flexing his arm just enough to prompt another giggle from his friend. “Didn't want you or Collins getting beaten up on your date-”</p>

<p>“How noble, maybe next time just stay out of it, yeah? Not like- not like that, but, y’know. Don’t die. Idiot.”</p>

<p>“Wow okay let’s insult the concussed boy, that seems fair. Hey-”</p>

<p>George shook Peter’s hand softly until the latter finally looked up to meet his gaze.</p>

<p>“I’m fine. I promise. And I love you too. Don’t ever quote me on that. I’ll try harder not to die next time. Did you- did the nurse tell you-”</p>

<p>“That you should be out tomorrow?”</p>

<p>“Yeah, it’s- it’s, y’know, it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Hurts a lot, I’m a bit dizzy, and you kind of have three eyes, but apart from that, I’m fine, so I can leave. I don’t know-”</p>

<p>“You’re coming to stay with us.”</p>

<p>“I can’t impose on you like-”</p>

<p>“George you live with us half of the fucking time anyways, what difference does this make?”</p>

<p>“Fair,” George shrugged again. A lazy smile crept back onto his lips; “you know, I can't <em> believe </em> you and him haven't- Peter, you even did the pool trick-”</p>

<p>“The pool tri- oh fuck…” Peter groaned, leaning forward enough to bury his face in the crisp hospital bedsheets. “Did I- was it bad? Oh my god, I was so worried about you, I completely-”</p>

<p>“You’re a bit muffled down there babes, repeat that would you?”</p>

<p>“Absolutely not,” came the equally muffled reply. “You heard me.”</p>

<p>George chuckled, and Peter could feel the bed shaking beneath him.</p>

<p>“It was a lot of fun to watch. And for the record, Collins didn't seem to mind at all. Like, <em> at all </em>. I’m pretty sure you’re in. If you wanted to be, I mean- which you do, you told me-”</p>

<p>“Maybe I shouldn’t have called an ambulance after all-”</p>

<p>“You don’t mean that.”</p>

<p>“No you’re right, I don’t.”</p>

<p>“Damn right I’m right. I mean, who else are you going to rant to about handsome scottish Collins if I’m not around?”</p>

<p>  
<em> “George.” </em>  
</p>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna try and hopefully have this all done and dusted soon! sorry if updates are a tiny bit slow over the next couple days though! fresher's week just came to a close and now im getting into like introductory lecture territory so!! im gonna be a busy bee!
> 
> sorry this is so dialogue heavy aah, and also! mcgregor as in connor. feel like you'd know that but i like to back things up is all ahah
> 
> i hope you enjoyed the chapter, much love! <3
> 
> (about the repost: goodness i am so sorry. its been such a busy and kinda hectic time as of late that i just ! got all muddled up!! sorry about this aaah, ill fix it asap <3)

**Author's Note:**

> i hope! you enjoyed the ride!! feel free to hit me up with any thoughts or feelings on the fic, id appreciate the feedback a lot!
> 
> lots of love <3


End file.
